


at memory's end

by jukain



Series: high towers [3]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Angst, Body Horror, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Children, F/M, Family, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Patch 5.3: Reflections in Crystal Spoilers, Romance, War
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:41:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 7,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25941526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jukain/pseuds/jukain
Summary: all's well that ends well... sort of.post-5.3 oneshot archive cross-posted from my tumblr. massive spoilers ahead.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Warrior of Light & Estinien Wyrmblood, Warrior of Light & Thancred Waters
Series: high towers [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1581997
Comments: 4
Kudos: 70





	1. ranting game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> humor, gen

“– but i fail to see how becoming senselessly worked up over any topic would be–”

“– that’s _the point_ , raha, you’re _supposed_ to get worked up over something that doesn’t even matter–”

“what in the hells are you two jabbering about _now_?” alisaie snaps with the frustrated conviction of a woman who has the pleasure of working alongside lovers perpetually in their honeymoon phase. her fist strikes the table with a definitive and rattling thump, drawing the attention of two pairs of red eyes.

“g'raha hasn’t been overly emotional about stupid things for a hundred years, so we’re playing the ranting game,” tiamat explains conversationally, while the aforementioned man at her side does his best rendition of a helpless shrug.

alisaie makes a disappointed sound that’s somewhere in between a sigh and a groan, slowly shaking her head to emphasize the point.

“very well, a demonstration then, since i am outstandingly good at this game. give me a subject.”

without hesitation and as though she had already had it well in mind for g’raha, tiamat acquiesces: “chairs.”

alisaie nearly explodes out of her seat, slamming both hands flat on the wooden surface before her with enough force to jostle hers and alphinaud’s drinks. he is entirely unfazed by the action and continues ignoring his immediate surroundings in favor of a book.

“you’d like to hear my grievances about chairs? they’re always _too godsdamned tall!_ i know not what giant set the industry standard but it leaves all of us with _normal_ proportions hopping about like children! it’s utterly ridiculous!”

tiamat nods sagely and turns to look back at g’raha, who is stunned speechless and wide-eyed at the ferocity of alisaie’s ongoing ranting about furniture. there’s a tentative humor shining in his eyes, however, and tiamat decides that it’s time to step up her efforts to further break the impossible man out of his shell… starting with a better game.


	2. loathing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw for substance abuse and unhealthy grieving
> 
> angst

tiamat wants nothing to do with the tower of the first.

she helps the dwarves establish a base of operations out of lakeland, all the while the crystal spire sits ever vigilant to her back. she brandishes her goldsmithing tools to assist in the war machine building endeavors with naught a complaint. the tower remains as it has always been.

she hates it. she can’t stand to look at it.

the dwarves quickly assemble a high quality brewery that doubles as a fuel producing plant, because of course it does. tiamat volunteers as a taste tester for the unpalatable ethanol brew these drunkards consider a good, standard beverage. she knows she won’t be able to tolerate it and doesn’t care, and that isn’t the point of her casting her lot in.

it burns all the way down her throat and is merciless to her innards and it’s soon apparent that this is the most foul thing she’s ever ingested. she catches a glimpse of the tower while she drinks, glittering proudly as ever in the evening sky, and downs the entire mug in one swig while the dwarves around her cheer in delight. even while tears prick at the corners of her eyes and nausea wars with her constitution.

 _he’s home. he’s fine._ she repeats to herself, downing as much of the booze as she can physically handle before it inevitably makes her regret it. _he made it back to the source and he’s a scion and he’s alive and safe. he’s fine._

her vision spins and she stumbles away from the camp, clipping the edges of thorny brush when her wobbly knees give out in her stupor. she lands hard and feels as though she’s jostled her entire existence with the sudden movement.

_the body of the person i love above all else is melded to the tower forever like a fucking statue. a whole person dead and gone and just standing there. living here for centuries and made of crystal as if he were a memorial and not a corpse and not a living person just a body  
_

tiamat vomits into the grass and dirt before her, heaves with labored breaths through tears, and then continues to expel her stomach’s contents until it exhausts her. she is barely able to brace herself upright on her forearms, trembling from weakness as she is. she clears her throat noisily and spits hard into the mess of bile and blood.

_i hate the tower… i hate it. i hate it i hate it i hate it_


	3. two's company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the macguffin, so to speak
> 
> gen, light angst

“whatever became of your wind-up replica?” g’raha asks, only belatedly recalling his mammet’s existence while watching tiamat carry out commissioned maintenance on others’. “last i remember, it remained within the tower on the first.”

“you’d be correct,” tiamat responds, not looking up from the delicate nature of her work. “she continues to serve the purpose i built her for.”

g’raha’s eyebrows furrow a little in confusion. why wouldn’t it be brought here? he is here. he _was_ \--

he was...

a mercy: tiamat answers the unspoken question he doesn’t think he can ask.

“to provide the crystal exarch with company, when i cannot.”

(in a far away and very lonely place, a toy chimes out a simple melody from within its inner workings-- a prototype music box, never to be completed-- and sits against the ankle of an immovable figure, before ceasing its functions entirely)


	4. returner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> writing challenge? never heard of em
> 
> the missing scene. gen, feelings

it takes tiamat until the crystal tower doors slide shut behind her to realize that she has no idea where to look for its sole resident. she comes to a lagging stop at the foot of its dual stairways, panting heavily from the exertion of outright _sprinting_ from the rising stones to there-- exhausting her physically in such a mundane way that feels nostalgic. how long has it been since she ran around like a lunatic? too long. not since g’raha left, and with him her desire for childish antics and having fun.

speaking of!

“if i were a haughty little princeling, where would i want to sleep for centuries...” she wonders aloud, suppressing the disappointment of a non-reaction from the soul crystal tucked within the front of her robes. 

it radiated a warmth not unlike the feeling of blood flowing beneath skin, but with it came a sharp smell of aether and g’raha’s own blood, crystallized, that made tiamat reflexively wrinkle her nose in disgust. this would have to be her new least favorite smell, coming in hot on the heels of aether-singed chainmail.

she darts up the stairs at a much quicker pace than she had all those years ago during the initial raids upon the tower, and far more singularly motivated than her delve into the twinning. she takes this moment to think about g’raha’s possible location while her feet pound the floor beneath her in a rapid rhythm only beaten by the race of her heart.

tiamat’s first guess is the throne. he was (is) a dramatic sort, and she could scarce think of anywhere else more suited to the final member of allag. it would be poetic and grand in all the ways that she found silly, but he coveted as greatly as he did adventure.

she thinks back to the labyrinth-like architecture of the tower’s higher levels, and is reminded of the lost ironworks archives she had come across while in the twinning.

_there, at its center, we found him_

the center. while the throne would be thematically fitting, it didn’t add up to what those official records stated. moreover, even if the path to xande’s final resting place was cleared for the most part of monsters, tiamat strongly doubted g’raha would be willing to risk his safety traversing it alone, so close as he was to fulfilling his destiny. it was too dangerous of a climb for anything less than a full alliance of experienced combatants, let alone one person.

center. center center center...

ah, tiamat realizes alongside the certainty that she’s an idiot. a central hub, tucked cozily away within the tower. she bolts into that familiar route she had taken countless times on the first, one that she could make blindfolded and walking backwards; the prize awaiting her being the soft look of adoration from the one and only person she cared to see at both that point and now.

the ocular doors open without prompting at the wordless heed of royal blood. she stops at the threshold, momentarily paralyzed, captured within a moment, when she spots g’raha. a single spot of red against endless blue and gold, he sits curled up on himself against what would have eventually become a scrying glass. his head rests awkwardly against his shoulder, and tiamat chuckles helplessly, breathlessly, when she remembers all the times she had found him sleeping in that exact same position against ruins and crystal growths and at the bases of trees...

“you’re going to have the worst neck ache in existence,” she teases roughly through the emotion in her throat, her lips pulling into a smile that no one will see. the tapping of her heels is impossibly loud as she crosses the width of the room and to the sleeping man, still appearing as young and goofy as she thought he would be. his hair could use a trim.

with trembling hands tiamat opens the front fold of her robes and withdraws the exarch’s existence, crammed into such a tiny space that continued to glow and warm her just as he always did, even if it weren’t possible for him to be aware of it in this state.

she inhales deeply to settle her nerves, to wrangle her desperate hope into some semblance of control, and settles the crystal gently in g’raha’s lap. backing up one step, and then another, she stares at them, absentmindedly smoothing her claws against a belt at her waist in a nervous gesture. she doesn’t know what she should do besides not interfere with the process, given how delicate and unruly the nature of souls are, but this waiting may prove to be her undoing. she has very limited patience in regards to her favorite person, as it so happens.

she doesn’t know what to do, and with that, tiamat moves to take a seat beside him, landing a little harder on her backside than she intended. one ache for another, she thinks nearly hysterically, exhaling sharply and resting her head back against the crystal plane. throbbing pain lances through her temples-- though caused by her run or the weight of her grief, she does not know-- and she grimaces.

and just as anticipated, tiamat grows tired of waiting in such dead and unwelcoming silence very quickly. if this is where she must keep vigil for however many bells until g’raha awakens, she’s likely to go mad and instigate even more problems for him.

“you know...” she starts conversationally to them. to no one. “when master louisoix saved me from the calamity, he sent me ahead in time by five years. i don’t actually know if it was literal time travel like what you did, or if he put me into some sort of stasis to wait it out...”

she smiles weakly. “you’ve been sleeping for just as long as i did. or the younger you has, anyway. i don’t actually have anything else to say on the matter, but i thought it was a fun coincidence.”

predictably, g’raha tia doesn’t respond. the crystal bearing his elder’s soul and memories, however, suddenly brightens with a near hum in the same way the scions’ had before they woke up safely within their bodies. tiamat’s jaw clenches and it takes every onze of willpower in her to not break down sobbing with hope and fear. despair and elation. if she is to have a fit, she’ll at least wait until everyone’s home where they should be and she can dare to be useless.

“i’m going to pretend you’re acting up because you like the sound of my voice,” she manages to say, shakily, “and if it’ll make you wake up faster, i can certainly keep going. i’ll talk all godsdamn night if i have to. you’ll wake up just to tell me to _stop_ talking.”

she laughs and it’s a broken and awful sound. perhaps she’ll go insane far earlier than she thought.

“i can do you one better, however, since i know just how much you love my voice. you’ll _have_ to wake up for this.”

tiamat swallows hard and takes a moment to compose herself, her breaths deep and measured to soothe herself and calm the thundering within her chest. she feels more anxious for this performance than she ever had on stage, which she thinks says something about her priorities if only for how easy it is for her to play a role versus expose her heart, even to one she loves. even if he cannot hear her.

“ _feel the wind, eternal_ ,

 _sweeping ‘cross the land_...”

the first notes are strained and off-key, but she presses on. g’raha tia would surely scold her for giving up because of self-consciousness.

“ _over sea and desert,  
_

_stirrin’ waves and sand..._ ”

tiamat allows her volume to rise until her words resound through the chamber. she focuses so hard on her singing that she doesn’t notice the soul crystal dim, or g’raha’s eyes fluttering open. she only barely hears a breathy inhale from beside her, and nearly shouts the next line against her oncoming panic. he’s awake-- he’s awake-- he’s--

“ _lost, within the darkness i am blinded by light_ \--”

a cold hand slips against her wrist, fingers tangling loosely with her own. her voice breaks with a desperate, wet gasp and she loses the self-proclaimed fight against her weakness instantly. she throws herself at g’raha after a sparing meeting of their eyes, both bloodshot and teary, and wails into his chest. his arms circle her without hesitation, pressing her to him with such force that she doesn’t even need to ask the obvious question about his state of mind-- this is the reaction of both a dear friend and reunited lover.

“good morning, my love,” g’raha says with a nuzzle against her hair, his voice raspy from disuse. “i believe... i have a new favorite way of waking.”

tiamat laughs into the stiff fabric of his vest that’s well and thoroughly spotted with her tears.

“i may be willing to-- to repeat it, depending.”

he hugs her tighter, all youthful strength, and she would be perfectly happy to never have to leave his arms again for any reason, not even to breathe.

“you have given me more than i ever dared to hope,” g’raha murmurs with an underlying, rumbling purr, “and waking next to you is all i could ever want... but i will certainly not complain should you decide to indulge me on occasion.”

"of course,” tiamat replies softly, worn thin from crying and running and crying even more. “whenever you want. always.” 

she tucks her head beneath his chin and revels in the thrum of his heartbeat, the vibration of his joyful purring against her cheek, momentarily ignoring the world at large in favor of this one miracle. her sun, her star, shepherded home to her at last.


	5. besties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> estinien needs to come back so we can have a moment
> 
> gen, fluff

“you look better.”

 _oh, so you didn’t_ actually _leave?_ tiamat wants to tease when she turns to face estinien, who leans against the outer wall of the rising stones in that faux aloofness he thinks he can fool her with. or maybe he’s trying to fool himself, still, with such an ingrained habit.

“i feel better,” she confirms for him instead, grinning widely enough to expose teeth. he rolls his eyes at her (fondly) and she takes the pause in interaction to close the distance and slink around him, propping herself up at his side in a nonchalant pose of her own. the rough masonry is less than comfortable against her bare shoulder, but she’s fairly certain she’ll survive it.

“i can scarce believe what i’ve been told about your ordeals on the first,” he says lowly yet still conversationally, “but i shan’t argue with the results. i am less acquainted with the scions as a group than i am with the machinations of those lalafellian women... and yet even so, i can see the differences in morale as clear as day... yours most especially, my friend.”

tiamat hums, contentedly enjoying the sound of her fellow ex-azure dragoon’s voice, as well as the company that he’s determined to keep to himself. she wonders about the lengths tataru and krile went to secure his assistance for matters in garlemald, but she is also savvy enough to know that she may not be prepared to handle that dire truth. lalafells were dead last on her personal list of folk she’d be willing to cross, and for good reason.

“i am happy, for the first time in a long time. ridiculously happy, even.” she drums her mechanical fingers against her opposing arm where they lie crossed loosely over her chest. “i’ve gotten everything i wanted, and up until now i had thoroughly convinced myself that it was impossible for me to have nice things, because of ‘destiny’ or other nonsense. i suppose i finally found something that made me decide with absolute certainty that fate can go fuck itself.”

estinien snorts in laughter, his lips quirking up into a soft, amused smile.

“some _thing_ , or some _one_?” he asks, his stormy grey eyes gleaming knowingly, because of course he would be well aware of her comings and goings since he had also evidently been present to save her hide in ghimlyt. tiamat deadpans and offers him her best and most practiced blank stare.

“know that you can try to goad me all you like, estinien, but i am incapable of embarrassment and there is naught you can possibly say to change that.”

estinien’s smug look is devastating in its own right. she wants to smack it off his stupid face.

“oh, of that i do not doubt, warrior of light. i simply found it... quite interesting how you took off at a dead sprint to the tower, rather than, say, calling for your chocobo-- which remains stabled here i might add.” estinien has the gall to look away from her and out into the toll’s plaza. she refuses to follow his gaze because she knows it’ll lead to the stables, and her poor neglected chocobo (sorry, biscuit). “that being said, 'tis not my business to judge your way of doing things... be it slaying false gods or rescuing your slumbering prince.”

“why are you so mean to me?” she asks weakly, her voice an intentionally quivering whisper; crocodile tears. and, just as she sees through estinien’s prickly exterior straight to his squishy center, he sees through her overly emotional facade and right into her wont for mischief.

a broad hand reaches out and settles atop her head, pressing both of her tall ears down by their bases. tiamat glares up at him through her bangs, though her expression lacks any true animosity, and estinien smirks back at her. his eyes are warmer than she thinks she’s ever seen, and it does well to thaw the chill ever present in the rest of his demeanor.

“i am very glad,” he says simply, kindly, vaguely. she understands what he means well enough, and huffs out a small and honest laugh.

“me too.”


	6. and two makes four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> kidfic bc i deserve it
> 
> gen, humor

“hold this.”

thancred barely has time to blink before he’s handed a child, who innocently stares up at him with bright red eyes. this child in question, calder, curls his arms over both of thancred’s broad hands and proceeds to playfully kick his small legs about as he dangles. 

sighing at this turn of events with all the annoyance of a surrogate family member, thancred nevertheless adjusts his posture to bring his new, temporary charge into a proper hold. calder squeaks in discomfort and squirms, thancred startling and quickly freeing the poor lad’s pinched tail from the confines of his jacket folds.

“sorry, sorry... i know i’m not the best babysitter, but i’m afraid you’re stuck with me for the moment,” thancred says mildly to him. too-large ears flick up towards the sound of his voice, one a little drooped under its own weight, and he can’t help but chuckle at the sight. 

thancred had seen plenty of young miqo’te (and mystel) in his life, and while calder appeared to be indistinguishable from any of them upon his birth, his viera heritage was definitely beginning to show itself as he steadily grew into adolescence. perhaps soon the cartilage in his ears would strengthen enough for them to be as upright as his mother’s.

with that thought, the telltale shriek of a young girl pierces the air, and both thancred and calder jump. when he looks down at the boy in concern, thancred sees that his ears are pressed tightly against his head of dark hair, his expression thoroughly spooked and eyes wide.

thancred then sees tiamat, and then after that a colorful and tiny blur not a fulm in front of her. snatching up the red-head with a triumphant “got you!”, the warrior of light holds her daughter at eye level and grins widely at her. ari defiantly thrashes in her grasp and wails until tiamat shushes her in one long, soft noise, the normally sharp glint in her eyes turning gentle. this act quiets her well enough, but her face remains twisted up in the most severe pout thancred thinks he’s ever seen in his life.

“your sister is quite the troublemaker, isn’t she?” thancred asks conversationally to calder, who doesn’t quite understand his meaning as much as he recognizes the sound of a question. his eyebrows furrow as he ponders, a couple seconds passing before he looks up at his holder and nods. thancred hums appreciatively.

tiamat all but juggles ari as the girl clambers up onto her shoulders, the soft edges of her claws digging into her mother’s shirt and the exposed skin at her shoulders. thancred winces in sympathy.

“don’t be fooled by his cute face,” tiamat warns him with utmost seriousness as she approaches them in a casual stride. “my son knows how to play mind games with the best of them.” 

the adults stare at one another.

“he’s five.”

“i know what i said.” 

she reaches up to assist her daughter’s balance when ari continues to impatiently wiggle in place, the girl taking the chance to grab one of two tall ears sitting within her reach. she points out at thancred with her free hand.

“he got you!” she proclaims accusingly at her brother, who all at once loses his adorable composure and sneers at her.

“he did _not_! _mother_ got me!” calder argues back while ari laughs (more cackles, really, so much as a toddler can) and thancred quietly wonders if he’s supposed to be offended by these children and their games.

“be nice to uncle thancred! not everyone can be as quick on their feet as me.” tiamat moves to poke her son on his nose in one swift motion and he squeaks and bats her hand away. thancred shoots her a withering stare.

“it will be far less amusing when they’re grown,” he says to her lowly, though still teasingly. having lost his patience at being held as any child would, calder begins to flail rather aggressively in thancred’s arms. he obligingly sets the boy down on the floor without further prompting, knowing full well that even the mellower, elder sibling had wicked claws of his own. 

immediately upon seeing the freedom of her brother, ari yanks on tiamat’s ear, and she sharply reprimands her daughter for it before also releasing her. the two take off down the hall with nary an additional word to either adult or each other, no doubt intending to cause further problems to every scion and rising stones patron.

“well, we do have a fair amount of time until then,” tiamat finally replies with a small smile. “and it’s a good thing we have all of you to help us out with this parenting business, don’t we?” she smirks at thancred while smoothing out her thoroughly child-messed hair, causing him to huff out a laugh and shake his head. he returns her smile with one of his own.

“if the last few years are any indication, i can safely say that i worry more for g’raha’s sanity than i do for your own.”

and with the sudden sounds of clanging and crashing coming from the far room the siblings had bolted for, thancred feels all the more certain of this. when he looks at tiamat, she only shrugs.


	7. blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> sometimes it's not so obvious
> 
> humor, gen

"great show as always, my friend," martyn greets tiamat with the same measure of enthusiasm as he always does. tiamat quirks a grin at him at the praise and hands him a cup of shaved ice, which he takes wordlessly and immediately digs into with the tiny spoon provided.

"it was fun!" she says cheerfully with her mouth full of ice, which martyn pretends not to notice or be bothered by out of politeness. "i had been thinking about themed shows for a while and thought the cold would be a nice change of pace from... ul'dah weather and all."

tiamat's face suddenly twists with the telltale sign of brain breeze, a punishment for her gluttony no doubt, and martyn snickers a little bit at her.

"your creativity when presented with a limited arrangement of spells is something to be admired, for sure." he gestures at her with his spoon for emphasis. "i could tell how much the crowd ate it up even at a distance, and i imagine anyone who is normally unable to attend the moonfire faire appreciated the addition of matching decor and treats."

tiamat's eyes light up in realization, and she quickly downs the flavor-tinged melted residue at the bottom of her cup. marytn desperately tries to not think about the taste of that and chases it away with a normal spoonful of the actually edible part, all while quirking a curious brow at her.

"that reminds me," she begins, crushing the paper in her hand, "my fiancee has been wanting to meet you and learn more about blue magic. not in the applicable way, i don't think..." she trails off and martyn hums in genuine surprise.

"i didn't know you were engaged!" he very nearly shouts, and finds himself grinning at the way tiamat ducks her head a little with a bashful look, her leporine ears tilting back. he's _never_ seen her look remotely embarrassed in any way, shape, or form, and feels the privilege keenly. "i must offer congratulations, then, on top of... ah-- you said they were interested in merely the logistics, then?"

tiamat nods. "he's the sort that would read through an entire library if left unsupervised, and has to know _everything_. i've been telling him about my own practice and he's seen at least one show that i'm aware of, but i don't think i know enough about blue magic in general to be able to answer the questions he has."

it's reassuring to his ego, with all its rampant insecurity, that his unfairly talented protege still values his word. martyn had assumed the woman would surpass him and flounce off to better pastures, as acquaintances of his were wont to do time and time again. the sweet surprise of her not only staying around, but continuing to speak and work with him as a _peer_ is... he is grateful, to say the least.

"well, i hope i don't disappoint. i'm not nearly as knowledgeable about the art as those who originated it." he stares down at the water at the bottom of his cup and has an internal debate on it, both put off and fascinated. "i would be honored, however, to speak of the guild in any way possible to someone the talented _azuro the second_ regards so highly. and not even in a business sense, though should the opportunity arise..."

tiamat gives him a withering stare, and for a moment martyn thinks he's overstepped, but then she chuckles and shakes her head.

"i've no worries about that. he's handled far worse than sleazy businessmen selling job stones out on the road." and that's fair. painfully honest, but fair.

"i'll look forward to it, then." he says glibly, watching tiamat discard their garbage (and his cup still with the lukewarm barely flavored water _no thank you_ ). it's due time for her to leave, as she typically does not long after her shows-- to what martyn assumes is another job-- so he decides to indulge his curiosity one last time before she ventures off.

"might i ask what his name is? your fiancee?" he asks just as, unbeknownst to him, a gaggle of newbie blue mages rounds the corner behind him. they come to a sudden halt, looking in between themselves with wide eyes and pointing in his and tiamat's direction.

being used to the attention considering her station, tiamat doesn't react to it, instead answering martyn conversationally: "g'raha tia. he's the newest member of the scions, and is catching up on a lot after being away for so long. try not to be intimidated by his ridiculous amount of questions, though, because he does genuinely want to learn. he's rather eccentric, is all."

birds of a feather, martyn thinks with a smile to himself, only then backpedaling to the greater details to what she's said. personally, he's only ever heard of the scions of the seventh dawn from word of mouth, and justifiably has never had anything to do with them outside of the occasional update of the last groundbreaking... _thing_ they accomplished. it must be an intense line of work, and he wonders briefly about how someone like tiamat could have possibly come across their agency to begin with, much less form a relationship with one of their members... good for her, at any rate.

she waves him goodbye, which martyn returns dutifully, and heads off at a lazy jog. he's already began to think about his own upcoming performance and possible twists he may add, feeling inspired by his protege's creative use of ice magic, when a shriek sounds from behind him and takes a decade from his lifespan.

"you're friends with _the warrior of light_?!" one of the novices exclaims, her tail fluffed out and lashing behind her. "the warrior of light is _azuro the second_?!" the other two at her flank titter amongst themselves excitedly. martyn, though thoroughly spooked by their less than subtle approach, can only manage a blank stare.

"the what?"

"why didn't you tell me she was the bloody _warrior of light_?!" martyn very nearly cries while aggressively wringing his poor hat in his hands.

"i thought you already knew!" royse snaps back at him, "the both of you are always so casual with each other! how was i supposed to know you somehow didn't recognize the _incredibly famous_ hero of eorzea on sight?!"

martyn is not at all appeased by this response and screams his dismay into the bunched up fabric of his hat.

"i've made myself look like a _total buffoon_ to possibly the most influential person i will _ever_ meet! she's seen me _naked_!"

for her own sanity, royse chooses to not ask the obvious question.

"you do realize that she's still the same person, right? and that you quite literally _just_ talked to her not two bells earlier, and have been doing humiliating things mutually for the last some odd weeks?"

martyn is silent for a moment, and then slowly lifts his reddened face from hiding.

"the warrior of light spat fish at me and laughed about it," he says in quiet wonder.

royse sighs, crosses her arms, and nods. "she sure did."


	8. not worth mention

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tiamat has some words for misija
> 
> tw for violence and general dark themes
> 
> spoilers for the 5.45 resistance quests
> 
> angst, horror

when she sees misija again, it's near twilight across the bozjan front, and even the resistance guards who allow her visitation give her an odd look as she requests it. perhaps they are more used to war than she, but tiamat has long since lost the ability to sleep with so many phantoms of those she's failed waiting for her in nightmares. no, she'd rather spend her insomnia as a resource to grant her extra time than the plague it truly is.

lies she tells herself in a haze of loathing that grows ever thicker the farther into the prison she walks. she doesn't want to think too hard on it, because if she does, she'll lose what little control over her reason that she has left. warfare-- the feeling of explosives shaking the loose dirt beneath her, the whistling of projectiles and spells overhead-- these are novelties of the location. tiamat has no control over what happens here, and it's far from her purview anyway.

gods and servants. tempering. these are different. these are what she destroys utterly, sinking her teeth into aether and tearing asunder until there is nothing left but the hollowness in her chest. whether she wills it or not, it is this that she spills her lifeblood for. that which she seeks to eliminate above all else, if not through duty than through hatred.

war, killing, spoken hands taking spoken lives. there are far worse fates than death.

misija regards her neutrally, but tiamat sees the flash of surprise across her eyes once she enters the cell. the others may avoid doing so, acknowledging her as a proper threat as they well should, but tiamat has never had such reservations. misija could not harm her.

"what do i owe the honor of this visit?" misija asks with a small tilt of her head. "i didn't expect the champion of eorzea to come down here herself, after the dust settled. surely you have better places to be."

"there's always somewhere i should be," tiamat answers, closing the cell door behind her and leaning against it. "but right now, i want to be right here, speaking with you alone so i can get my own sense of closure... as pointless as it ultimately is."

misija's lips quirk at the corner into a self-depreciative smirk. "and i don't suppose that involves killing me, does it? i'd assume someone with such esteem would be above dirtying their hands, but just by looking at you i can tell that assumption misses the mark. you're not so merciful like that."

"no," tiamat acknowledges, "i'm far worse. and in any case, your life is not worth nearly enough to make up for what you've done. you could give and give and give and it would never be enough." she crosses her arms, idly flexing her fingers-- rolling them into a fist and back out with delicate taps of metal-- to keep herself steady. she wants to put them through misija's ribs and dig her claws into the meat of her heart.

"that so?"

the roegadyn woman sitting before her sounds only so mildly interested in the conversation, acting as pleasant as she needs to be before the authorities usually questioning her. she is honest, answering dutifully while expecting nothing out of her captors that she isn't already aware of.

_don't think about it._

tiamat steps forward, well into the open and close enough to misija that she sits up a little straighter. her pale brows furrow, eyes flicking back and forth from the warrior to the door. no one waits outside for either of them.

_don't think about it--_

they share eye contact and she can't help but _remember_ \-- the comradery of the blades even in the heat of battle. the way they included tiamat in everything they did while not depending on her action. the way they held their own and the way they supported each other unflinchingly. the off-color humor shared over the campfire. aggie's enthusiasm over a particular fight where in she was able to cripple the legs of a vanguard and the light in her eyes despite all she went through--

she was no older than the twins

something audibly _cracks,_ the intensity of which startles misija from her practiced calm. tiamat sees the movement of her hands and upper body, the expertly smooth reach for a weapon that is not there. it's no doubt an ingrained habit and one that tiamat possesses herself, though she would never make the mistake of allowing anyone to disarm her entirely.

the warrior of light uncrosses her arms and tosses the snapped pieces of metal broken off from her gauntlet haphazardly onto the floor. they yield beneath the heavy step of her boot when she closes the distance of the cell, rage shrieking in her ears and a familiar haze settling behind her eyes. ever the sort to focus in on the single target painted by her crosshairs, the entire world could very well disappear around her and she wouldn't notice. or, perhaps more accurately, she wouldn't care.

_don't._

she knows. tiamat knows she can't. she knows nothing she does would ever make it better again. she knows it's not worth becoming a monster if doing so will strip her of the chance of ever making anything right between her and the world. she can't be that person anymore.

but she is not so redeemed that she doesn't viscerally enjoy the fear that crosses misija's gaze when she uses her body to block any view of the door.

"you misunderstand. i'm not here to play diplomacy or interrogate," tiamat begins in a low voice, harsh around the edges. "i'm here because there is nothing more i'd like than to string you up by your entrails, to draw out your suffering as much as possible until you understand what true helplessness is. to know that there is no force, no person, no _god_ around that will hear the sound of your death rattle."

it wasn't as though anyone would believe a thing a criminal and betrayer so heinous would claim, and misija knows this as surely as she will soon understand the pressure of the warrior of light's wrath.

"but i told you, didn't i? you aren't worth it. your life isn't enough and nothing will ever be enough to bring them back. no amount of torture i inflict on you will ever undo what you've done, and there is not enough life within you to bleed out as penance for the atrocities you've committed. they will never come back."

to her credit, misija doesn't move. rather, she fists the metal frame of her cot with a white-knuckled grip. tiamat leans in and rests a clawed hand loose on her shoulder, pressing ever so slightly and lowering her face to mere ilms away from hers. this would be the hard limit of any contact they'd ever have. tiamat would not harm her as a beast.

"i will do nothing to you, because no amount of pain i could ensure you feel is enough. instead, your true punishment will begin here-- with the knowledge that everything you've done, everything you stand for, your name and everyone who shared it, will be remembered with _hatred_. i am viera, after all. we live for a _very_ long time."

lilja was young too, and so, _so_ young for their kind. not even into her first century and the barely grown viera had already borne witness to the worst the world had to offer. tiamat wonders how long she would carry this ordeal with her, and how much it would affect her future.

"those of us who live will remember, and we will speak your name as we do with sin. we'll mark it into records, into testaments, so our children's children will know of our disdain for your very existence. anything you wished for and any purpose you may have had will be warped with disgust. your name, your line, your ancestors." tiamat can't help a bitter laugh, "you consider yourself so scorned _now_? i'll make certain that even those of your own flesh and blood who are able to survive this slaughter you've brought to them will look down on you with _revulsion_."

tiamat smiles. it's not a kind smile, and it's enough to draw a flinch from misija. she uses the roegadyn's shoulder as leverage to push herself upright and stares her down coldly.

"the world itself will detest you. it _still_ won't be enough, of course, but it'll do as a start... you see, the thing about gods and goddesses is that they can be slain. your plan was doomed to fail due to that fact alone, even before i became involved. your goddess was killed once before, so this shouldn't come as a surprise to you."

the warrior pauses to turn away and head for the exit.

"but do you know what won't die so easily? a legacy. legacies cannot be killed. they continue, branching out endlessly across time until there is no one left to remember them. and there are so, _so_ many here to remember you, misija."

the door creaks as tiamat wrenches it open, bathing herself in lamplight and casting a long shadow over this person she will only ever intend to be known as words on a page, a traitor decades and centuries beyond them.

"the actions of people will always have a greater impact than those of gods. it is us, after all, who wished them into being in the first place. if only you would have understood that sooner, perhaps there might have been a kinder resolution for all of us. but alas... we are mortal and prone to lapses in judgment. such things are easy to make when you only look in one direction."

tiamat closes the cell with a soft click of the door and leaves, not looking back.


	9. untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> self-explanatory i think
> 
> gen

he tries to not see azem in her.

this mortal is far too violent, for starters, and acts heinously much like the rest of her broken kind. she is irreversibly warped and the difference between her and azem’s (ultimately innocent) mischievousness is enough for him to easily divide them within his mind.

the hooded mortal draws someone achingly familiar out of the mess of the hero’s anger. this... piece of azem (never _her_ , she could never _be_ her) softens, the edge of her aggression dulling over the course of hers and the scions’ journey across the first. she becomes more patient and kind and while that penchant for tricks remains, the line between mortal and ancient blurs before his eyes.

she asks him questions with genuine interest and her eyes gleam so familiarly with satisfaction when he answers her in honest. azem’s eyes were brilliantly gold like the rising sun-- this broken piece bore eyes the shade of fresh blood. there was no similarity.

and yet,

.

“hades,” the hero prays in a near whisper while clutching azem’s crystal tightly to her chest, the echo of a voice not her own resounding through the darkness.

he would ever respond to his dearest friend’s pleas-- be it in their past or even in this sundered present.

one of her eyes has changed color to gold. hades knows she is not azem, and she will never be azem, but that doesn’t make her any less worthy of the power she now wields-- his final gift to the woman he cherished even if she were no longer there to receive it. without tempering twisting his mind into knots, he can understand. he can finally see this person for who she is, as not a fragment of azem, but as the mortal named tiamat.

and for all tiamat’s strengths and weaknesses, the flaws that make her unique against the original sum of her soul, hades knows with utmost certainty that azem would love her with everything she was.

and, well, who was he to argue with that?


End file.
